


Exalt

by parabolae



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 18:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2279838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parabolae/pseuds/parabolae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can Lissa deal with the responsibilities that come with being the Exalt?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exalt

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Major character death occurs, but is not described at all, and happens before the events of the story. This story also has no romance, but you can view it as containing ships if you wish.

Back when it had just happened, Lissa had cried a lot. She couldn't deny it; it would be too blatant, too transparent a lie, to ever be believable. She'd often prided herself on her everpresent, if somewhat clumsy, aura of bravado. That had slipped away like sand falling through her fingers on that night. Her tears had come easily, and so naturally. Through her blurry vision, the stars in the clear night sky had looked like some kind of elaborate tapestry; every constellation spelling out a message from her sister and brother. Back then she'd been relieved and comforted to see them etched in the sky. They looked like assurances that Chrom and Emmeryn were watching over her. But now they served as a cruel mockery to her naiveté. She felt foolish now at how quickly she'd believed in guardian angels. If anything, the whole situation had only made her feel like the most gullible of fools.

Even after her spending the whole night in frustrated tears, Ylisstol was unsympathetic. The very next morning she got up and put away the funeral clothes, woven in dull black cotton, and traded them for the pale robes of the Sage. Almost the exact same robes Emmeryn had once worn - except hers had gold edging, resplendent against the unassuming pale brown sleeves. Lissa sort of felt like a symbol of indulgence and overall disgusting opulence - she wanted to rip the gold trim right off.  
But that wouldn't have been ladylike.

The gold headdress Emmeryn had worn seemed too gaudy, too. On her sister it had looked like a beacon, reflecting hope and peace to the world. On her, it looked like a child playing dress-up. She understood at least one reason why Chrom had never wanted to be the Exalt: Emmeryn had left a pretty large pair of shoes to fill. More than anything, though, Emmeryn had been calm and serene in the face of adversity - something neither Chrom nor Lissa had ever been able to do.

Ylisse wasn't happy with the headdress and robes alone. They wanted something more. Lissa could sympathise with her people. After losing two leaders, so strong and noble, and being left with a weak, unmarked girl like her, it was only natural they'd be restive.

She may have been many things, but she wasn't stupid. And that was why the brand was now imprinted on her, at the base of her spine. Artificially, of course. One of the primary sources of her hidden insecurity had always been her lack of a brand. But now she bore it. It was a tattoo; had Lissa not known it was a lie, she might have believed it herself, so realistic did it look.

Now she twisted her neck so she could see her back in the bronze mirror that hung on the wall, but only just barely. She forced herself to stretch that last inch or so. The muscles in her neck were burning with pain, but she wanted to see the brand; how it looked on her skin that, upon reflection, was pale and almost untouched by battle. She gingerly lifted the edge of her white chemise until the brand was just visible. She inspected it for a moment or so before relaxing her neck, slumping forward, and letting the hem of her chemise fall. The image of the brand floated in her mind. Would that alone be enough to quell her fears?

"I should have gotten it done somewhere people could see," she muttered. Like maybe the back of her hand? But then - an image flashed across her field of vision. A tall, hooded figure; cloaked, dressed in a dark mauve. The mark of Grima patterned across the baggy sleeves, and a warm and friendly sparkle in the eyes. The mark of Grima had been on the back of the figure's hand that day they'd found them in the field. Of course, she hadn't known then what it was. She swallowed. Any other locations? Maybe the nape of her neck, or her ankle. Again, she felt inadequate. Emmeryn might have thought of this, had she been around; but then if Emmeryn had been around she'd never have needed to go to such lengths.

A knock came, echoing in Lissa's chamber. "Your Highness, they are expecting you in just under half an hour."

She swore she heard traces of doubt in the maidservant's tone, as if, as she'd thought, Lissa wouldn't survive the cut. Buoyed by baseless indignation she called back, "Yes, of course. I'll be out in fifteen minutes."

"Yes, Your Highness" - and this time Lissa couldn't hear any doubt at all. She sighed. Was she just paranoid? She marched resolutely towards the chest, on top of which her Sage's robes lay folded. The ladies-in-waiting had set them out for her, and offered to send a maid to dress her, but she refused. She was a tomboy yet, and did, deep inside, despise the thought of wearing something as cumbersome as robes. But she couldn't deny the inherent beauty of something like the unembellished, expertly-woven robes. She slipped into them carefully, and fastened the tiny buttons, concealed by a layer of sheer and almost unnoticeable cloth.

Lissa didn't particularly know the ways noblewomen enhanced their facial appearance, but she'd washed her face six - no, seven times, and she'd lightly applied rouge so as to highlight her cheekbones, as Maribelle used to do every morning. "War paint," Lissa had termed it teasingly, and though Maribelle had been annoyed at this colloquialism, she really felt as if she were going into battle. She dabbed the tinted beeswax onto her lips but felt clownish and swiped at it with a small cloth. Her hair had been attended to earlier, so all she had left was the headdress. After a moment's hesitation she had secured it with pins to her elaborate hairdo. She smiled a little at how Emmeryn's had always looked to be floating, like an angelic halo. Hers just looked like a regular crown.

She rose and walked stiffly back to her original position before the bronze sheet. She looked old. Not in a 'mature beyond her years' or an 'aged by misfortune' sort of way. She just looked her age, for once. Perhaps the noblewomen's urges for her to remove her hair from such guyish pigtails had been well-intentioned.

Lissa was eighteen this year.

Another knock came at the door. She was needlessly annoyed by it and flew to the door, wrenching it open by the latch to see the maidservant and one of her ladies-in-waiting standing and looking oddly cowed. "I'm ready!" she announced, perkily. _Just like she had to be_.

The maidservant appeared relieved. And no wonder. Her behaviour had been pretty erratic these last few days. "Your Highness, would you like to review your schedule for the day? We have ten minutes more," the lady-in-waiting put in.

"Sure," Lissa said absentmindedly, forgetting her newfound resolution to be a proper lady. As the lady-in-waiting went on about luncheons and meetings, she wondered if Ylisstol would accept her as their new Exalt. What if they pelted her with rotten eggs? What if they told her she wasn't fit to be Exalt? What if they jeered at her? What if… what if… what if -

"Your Highness?" There was a tinge of annoyance in the lady-in-waiting's voice. She snapped back into focus and smiled around graciously, as she had practised. The noblewoman looked surprised. Lissa was quite proud of herself. "Yes," she said. "That will do. Um - I think we should go… go greet my subjects."

My subjects. The phrase was clunky and arrogant, and internally she still considwred them to be more Emmeryn's. But the noblewoman's lips stretched into a pleased smile. "Indeed."

The two began walking down the hall, towards the public balcony, where Lissa would be greeting the people of Ylisstol. (The maidservant stayed behind, of course.) Lissa almost felt confident, before realising that the noblewoman would leave her once she emerged onto the balcony. She wanted to scream, or protest; back out before it was too late, but that stupid princess-y smile was fixed on her face and wouldn't go away. Oh gods -

"PRESENTING HER MAJESTY THE EXALT, LISSA OF HOUSE YLISSE!"

She was dizzied by the crowds before her. They were not silent and completely unimpressed, but the applause and cheers they gave was scattered and somewhat unenthusiastic. They seemed expectant. She had to say something. But what?

Her palms were clammy, and sticky with perspiration. Her blonde hair, so neat this morning, felt like it was coming undone. This was horrible, the very worst. She wanted to cry. How had Emmeryn done it? Oh Naga, why didn't you give me some of those genes, she wanted to moan. She was a disappointment. The restlessness of the crowds came up in waves. She felt herself step backwards, but then she felt someone shift beside her. She glanced nervously to her side.

It was Frederick. She hadn't noticed him, but there he was. Not in the armour he normally wore; it was something more formal. She tilted her body so as to make a getaway, but he whispered, low and quickly, to her. "Milady, you can do this."

Frederick's serious eyes reflected the panic in her own. He continued, "I spent years serving you and your siblings, so I believe it would not be imprudent of me to say that they would be proud of you for coming this far. It cannot be an easy task for a young lady such as you to come to terms with the passing of most of her family members."

Lissa said nothing and he spoke even faster, saying, "And milady - your sister - would want you to seize the moment. Show them you are the exalt they need - milady, I know you are."

Her voice was uncertain and shaky. "Really?"

He hesitated. "As they say, milady - knock 'em dead." A toothy grin spread across her face. It was positively undignified and not queenly at all, but it was her true smile. She didn't need to practise to use it. It was natural, and the best way she could possibly say that this was her, Lissa, and she would do her best. She turned back to the muttering crowd and drew a deep breath.

"People of Ylisse, it is an honour to be standing here today - "


End file.
